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AN GAOḊAL.
Jersey City July 29 1884.
Mr. Logan.
This was written on reading Michael
Sheridans translation of O'Donnell Aboo, the man
who taught me to read the Irish tongue, the feel¬
ings are Irish, and yet fear you will condemn it to
that silent purgatory of darkness — the waste bas¬
ket, for the faults are many. But 'tis the feelings
of the soul of a faithful friend, and lover of the
Gael.
John Coleman.
(Well indeed, friend Coleman you need not be
afraid we will condemn it to the waste basket, nor
anything coming from one who has proved by his
acts that he deserves his name to be recorded
among the honored champions of his country's
language, and in the First Journal with the im¬
press of that language on its "forehead." — Ed.)
TO MICHAEL SHERIDAN.
My lone heart fleets over each dark bounding bil¬
low,
To the land that I love, and one friend who is dear,
My spirit droops o'er him, like the ever bent wil¬
low,
With a smile for his joys, for his sorrows a tear.
And oh, were I near, when false friends would as¬
sail him,
With this arm, while living, I'd hold them at bay.
As first son of the Gael other ages will hail him,
In his loved Celtic tongue, they'l yet sing this
sweet lay.
My heart ever loved the wronged tongue of my
father,
That old tongue of our hero-soul'd bard, faimed
Ossian,
I loved its light notes, even its sadness I'd rather
Than all other music, with its light airy sheen.
'Twas this friend of my soul who first taught me
to read,
The sweet songs of our bards, with their soft sil¬
very roll.
At their strains low and wild, my warm heart oft
did bleed,
Every song smiles in sunshine, every strain has a
(soul.
And oh ! what a fountain of witching endearment,
Enshrine every dear word, they have woven in
song,
At their sweetness I smiled, and oft the hot tears
went,
Through the nerves of my frame, they rushed
trembling along,
Mo ċuisle, mo ṁuirnín, mo stóirín, mo
leana,
Mo ċailín deas ċríona, mo rún ġil, as
mo ġráḋ,
When woven in song. these fond words fall like
manna,
Round each child of the Gael, who loves Erin go
bragh.
Then here's to you Michael, my truly loved friend
Is mian liom, an teangan, a ḃ-fuil tú
múnta ann,
May you live long in Erin, its dear words to blend,
And tear back from the tyrant each true Irishman.
If they're chained to his rude tongue, be yours to
translate
Every sentence they write, when to Ireland they're
(true.
When they front him with frowns, and with fire,
and with hate,
Like that soul-thrilling song of O'Donnell Aboo.
SENTIMENTS OF OUR SUBSCRIBERS.
Cal. J, Deasy, per P. McGreal.
Cork, Ireland Rev. J. Stevenson.
D. C. H. Murray.
Dak. J. J. O'Connor. — We shall have the
books soon.
Ill. J. McCauly, Hogarty, Clancy, Darcey per
Mr. Darsey.
Mass. J. Murphy J. J. O'Sullivan, J McNally-
J. J. O'Brien, P. Kinnier, J. Barry. — Books in a
few days.
Mo. M. H Maddock.
Minn. M. Conroy, L. Garrity, J. Cronan P, H.
Barrett, F. McHale per Mr. Barrett.
Md. T. Cummings.
Neb. J. A. O'Donoghue.
N. Y. J. Kelly E J Moriarty per J Cromien
O Cavanagh, C. Manning F. Butler. Miss M. A.
Lavin. per Mr. T Erley, J Fitzsimmons, M. O'Con¬
nor D Haynes per Mr. McTighe. P A Dunne, P.
E Keefe Hon. D Burns, P MGrath, the Misses
Brannigan Comer, Duffy Downing, Needham and
O'Neill per Hon. D Burns.
Oregon. J Sullivan.
Pa. P J Cole. J Lyons, per J J Lyon. E Burns
P J Crean, T F McCarthy, H J O'Neill, per Mr.
McCarthy, Hon Denis O'Lenihan, per P. Gibbons
P Gibbons T C O'Donovan.
Tex. M Casey per P Halley Memphis Tenn.
Fla. D O'Keefe. Mr. O'Keefe says that he has
every hope of being able to organize a good Irish
class in Ft. Dade. Books in a few days.
Va. T. Kelly.
Ireland Mrs. J Larkin and J M Stack, Co Kerry
per M Stack, Beavermeadow Pa. J P Crean, Bal¬
lymonelly Co Mayo, Per P J Crean, Phila. Pa.
Brooklyn T Erley, Dunning, J T Donovan, J.
Peters, Mrs. Fitzsimmons.
All our correspondents are very enthusiastic re¬
garding the language, and are sanguine as to the
ultimate success of the movement for its preserva¬
tion.
The N. Y. societies are getting along splendidly.
However, they are yet a little behind Brooklyn.
They have to found a journal, however small, to
justify themselves before the public in claiming to
be even up to Brooklyn. We understand that they
are about to publish Prof. Roehrig's essay on the
Irish Language in pamphlet form. There is hard¬
ly a need for this as the Gael will devote three and
four pages to it, until it is finished, after Dr. Mac¬
Nish's is concluded.
Seo é sláinte minic a ṫig agus sláinte
minic naċ d-tig ; aċ b' ḟeárr liomsa go
d-tioceóċaḋ minic naċ d-tig níos mion¬
ca na 'n minic a ṫig!
This toast was drunk by a lady in the presence of
one of her admirers who paid her frequent visits.
